


Coming Home

by Canaan



Series: Ka!verse [5]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: AU, BDSM, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Smut, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-23
Updated: 2011-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 00:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canaan/pseuds/Canaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There's something to be said for lovers who've spent hundreds of years together."  H/C PWP.  Fifteen/old!Jack/Rose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for the Saying_Yes_2010 LJ community. Joking wanted sub!Jack, and Jack had strong opinions about this one. If you haven't read my Ka!verse AU, it's dark. Here's what you need to know: Rose outlived 10.5 and came back to her original universe after hundreds of years. The Doctor's on his fifteenth regeneration. They're an OT3 that literally has forever in front of them, and sometimes, each needs to take a few years away from the other two to avoid driving each other up the wall. Jack has just returned from that kind of break. This story follows sometime after "Heals All Wounds," but not necessarily _directly_ after.

Re-entering this room is like re-entering the TARDIS herself after so many years: a combination of the wondrous and the commonplace, its familiarity made strange and distant by the passage of his personal time. He undresses on autopilot, folding his clothes neatly and setting them out of the way. He automatically walks to a patch of floor like any other, except his nerves remember that this spot is the one he's meant to go to. He kneels, the soft surface of the floor giving slightly under his knees, and waits.

"Close your eyes, Jack," Rose says. He lets them fall closed and relaxes a little as a soft length of cloth settles over them. Her fingers tie it in a practiced knot behind his head. "Better?" she asks, gently.

He smiles. "Better," he agrees.

Cool fingers fasten cuffs around his wrists and then tug at them. "Up you go, Jack," the Doctor says. Jack gets to his feet. The Doctor draws the cuffs up to fasten them high above his head.

Jack's body remembers; he spreads his feet apart for balance. "Where were you, last?" Rose asks. Before the rendezvous point on Silica, she means: the location and time they'd decided they'd all go to when they were ready to pick him up and he was ready to rejoin them.

A light touch, warm and soft, brushes over his arse. Leather, he thinks, or something like it. "Tysal," Jack says. The flogger comes down sharply, the stinging sensation drawing a soft, appreciative gasp from his lips and the thud beneath it promising better things to come. "I was working as a model at the Art Academy."

"Taking off your clothes for a living?" the Doctor asks, amused. "Good thing you didn't tell 'em that you'd do that for free."

Rose laughs, and so does Jack. The flogger falls again--slowly at first, almost lazily, and then more steadily. It's Rose's touch, walking the leather up over his shoulders and down to tickle his thighs. "Were you alone?" she asks, a little later. He nods. "Answer out loud, Jack."

"Yes," he says. "I needed to be alone for a while."

The flogging stops. Rose leans up against him and presses a kiss to his back. "How long?" the Doctor asks.

Jack's not sure. "A few years, I think."

"You're tense," Rose says softly. Jack makes a conscious effort to relax his shoulders. Her arm slips around his ribs. She drags her palm slowly down over his belly and he moans in anticipation. She cradles his cock in curled fingers, but doesn't grip. It draws a little growl from him, but when his hips press forward, her hand pulls away. He draws a deep breath, diaphragm descending as his chest rises, and exhales slowly. "More?" she asks.

"Yeah," he breathes. "I need this."

She slips away from him again, and he hears a faint swish through the air.

It's all the warning he has. The sensation comes out of nowhere, cutting through memory like a knife-stroke, though he knows it's a heavy lash across his arse. It tears a sound from him that's half pain and all arousal. Rose lets it land five or six times before she asks, "Where were you before Tysal?"

Jack remembers dirt and heat, fresh-ploughed furrows and weak beer and the sharp scent of sweat and sex. "Nevada."

"The state?" the Doctor asks.

Jack groans as the lash connects. "The planet."

Rose plies her tool down the backs of his legs, paying special attention to the sensitive tops of his thighs, just below his arse. "How long?" she asks.

He smiles, but his heart aches. "Thirty-six years," he says. _Five months. Twelve days._ He'd never counted them until they ended, but his wristcomp still kept perfect time.

"Oh, lad," the Doctor says. It's ridiculous--Jack's almost six hundred years old, and the Doctor still calls him lad. But the ache of sympathy in the Time Lord's voice is as real as the lash across his back.

"Who was it?" Rose asks.

Jack remembers a low-cut blouse, the swell of small breasts, and the scent of beer. He remembers an argument, a well-aimed beer stein, and a rough tumble on her mattress in the back room of the bar. "Arcelia."

Rose doesn't answer with words. She has a firm hand with the lash--she's had enough practice for it. It's heat and pain and just exactly right, and he gets lost in it.

The night on that mattress had become days afterward. Weeks in the bar had become years on the family farm. Julio came along, and Ernesto, with their first words and scraped knees and schoolboy crushes. By the time the boys were teenagers, dates became a delightful time that he and Arcelia were alone in the house and could make as much noise as they wanted. The sound of his name on her lips is music in his memory.

Cool/wet/soft envelops his cock, and Jack finds himself sobbing. The Doctor sucks him and Rose lays lines of pleasant fire across his back and Jack puts Arcelia away, tucking a small lifetime into the box in his heart where it belongs. Eventually, he finds he's stopped weeping. Rose is stroking his back tenderly and his lips, under the Doctor's kisses, are smiling. "Thank you," he breathes.

"We love you," Rose murmurs.

The Doctor takes the cuffs off and catches him when his knees want to fold. He blinks against the light as the blindfold comes off and rests for a moment between his lovers.

The bed isn't far away. He sprawls on it and watches the Doctor and Rose kiss. They're familiar and wonderful and _his_ , but after this long, everything is edged with a sense of _new_. Need builds in a pattern he remembers, and when he draws his tongue along the curve of Rose's breast, she tastes of herself, not anyone else.

He finds himself propped over her, sliding into slick sweetness that's hot and tight and feels like she was made to fit him. She says his name, and he's not hearing anyone else's voice. She draws her knees up and he rocks into her gently, without urgency, stilling when he feels the Doctor close behind him. The Doctor's touch is slow and sure and Jack groans and shifts between the two of them, enjoying the need and the waiting and the lingering ache through his back and arse.

There's something to be said for lovers who've spent hundreds of years together. Everyone knows whose legs go where to make it all work and just how to find a rhythm that will do for three. Fucking Rose while the Doctor fucks him is like knowing exactly where he belongs, remembering who he was before he took a few decades to live another life. His brain remembers the edges of his body and his nerve endings remember that life is sweet and good and worth living to the fullest.

Afterward, Jack's lying between his partners, sharing small touches and sighs and caresses. "I missed you," he murmurs.

Two sets of arms tighten in embrace around him. Rose brushes a kiss across the back of his neck. "Welcome home," the Doctor says.


End file.
